The diamonds are good and gone.
We’ve torn the house apart and gone through every bag, but I knew even before we did those things that the pretty shinies were classing up a landfill somewhere.
It’s probably not reassuring to hear the jewelry artist say “Well, dang y’all! Where did those diamonds run off to?” Especially if one is considering putting something precious into my care. But that’s the point, these weren’t precious. This was a bag of quarter carat champagne and chocolate brilliants, which I ordered as I begin to stockpile for Christmas. I casually tossed them to Karen to take a look at as I worked on two pieces which did have deep value for their clients and therefore deep value to me: a custom engagement ring with a diamond lovingly picked, and the 22k jade ring ordered for an adored wife about to receive permanent United States residency. I didn’t give the diamonds a second thought because they were just raw materials to use, with no sentimental value of their own.
When specific stones arrive, either those sent by clients or unique stones ordered for clients, quite a spectacle takes place at my house. It’s as if the Virgin Mary has appeared in my french toast, and everyone is called to see. My clients have no idea how many curious eyes watch their jewelry progress, how many well-wishers know their names and their special occasions, how many are as excited about their jewelry as they are.
“Look at that color!” We’ll exclaim, looking at the new arrival. ” Ohhh, he picked a pretty one!” Or, “This was her Grandmother’s? Ohhhhhh!”
And then the stone is lofted overhead as a procession of the dazzled accompanies it to my studio, where it is placed in a monster-sized Ziploc bag with Sharpie labeling, and push-pinned to the wall. You missed seeing it? Tough. Can you take it down and look at it? No! And stop breathing in that direction, you might hurt the pretty. Lofted overhead might be an exaggeration.
These lost diamonds weren’t due such adulation and interest, which is why I carelessly tossed them to Karen and thoughtlessly left them on the kitchen table to begin with. These were just generic diamonds still in their generic vendor bags, waiting to have life breathed into them; waiting to become someone’s something special.
And that is what I keep repeating like a mantra now that I’m done vomiting and tearing my cuticles to shreds.
It really could have been so much worse. Beyond a kink in my finances, these just weren’t important.